


Wednesday

by thegreenery



Series: Weak [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, He's not actually dead, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I promise, Migraine, Mild Gore, Nausea, Passing Out, Self Harm, Vomiting, graphic description of a panic attack, implied major character death, self hate, this fic is very intense please be careful, vent fic, venting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22803688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreenery/pseuds/thegreenery
Summary: Virgil hurts.
Series: Weak [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640275
Kudos: 34





	Wednesday

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: PLEASE be careful. This is a very graphic description of a panic attack, migraines, self-hate, and some self-harm. If this might trigger you, please do not read this. There is also implied character death, although he doesn't actually die. Please be careful. <3

Nausea roils in Virgil’s stomach like a hurricane of ooze. 

Sweat drips down his back as freezing, searing heat boils his skin from the inside out. 

His head pounds with the drums of war, the onslaught never ceasing though he’s raised his white flag of surrender too many times to count. 

His chipped and bitten nails dig into the calloused, scarred skin of his arms until the surface breaks and half-moons of red drip his lifeblood onto the floor. 

The red is startling against the pale white of his skin, sickly and tinged with yellow-green. 

His mismatched eyes are bloodshot, lids drooping with exhaustion even as he tries to bury it just a little more, just a little bit longer. 

He sucks his bottom lip between his abnormally sharp teeth, the points fitting into chapped crevasses. 

As he bites down, the pain is familiar. 

Almost comfortable. 

The nausea begins to ebb, the pounding between his temples fading, and then.

The comfortable pain turns sour. 

The nausea returns full-force and he barely manages to lock his jaw closed before his stomach is rejecting everything he had eaten today. 

Virgil swallows it back down, the acid coating his throat and tongue and the inside of his cheeks. 

War bands redouble their efforts, pounding and beating at his skull. 

The darkness seeps into the cracks between his skin. 

Broken whispers of hate and rejection and fear drag him down, 

down, 

down, 

down, 

down 

into an ocean of ink and blood.

Virgil is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to vent. I might continue this, idk yet


End file.
